


A Week into the Life of Eirik and Mikkel

by RandomW07



Series: DenNor Week 2020 [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Day 3 is darker than the other days, Dennor Week 2020, Drowning Metaphors, Fluff and Angst, Light-Hearted, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomW07/pseuds/RandomW07
Summary: A collection of ficlets written for DenNor Week 2020.University AU. Living together comes with its trials and tribulations, but Eirik and Mikkel are determined to make it work.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Series: DenNor Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740703
Kudos: 17





	1. Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Decided to go for a university AU (except for one day which will be posted separately). Set in France because I'd probably butcher any other education system in the world.  
> Eirik (Norway) is in his first year of med school, while Mikkel (Denmark) is a first year psychology student; this makes them both 18!

Eirik comes home to find Mikkel waiting for him. Sky blue eyes widen as they take in his bedraggled appearance, hair laying flat across his hair, clothes clinging to his skin. The treacherous rain disguised itself as minuscule droplets, painting the horizon a hazy grey and fooling Eirik into thinking it was only a light shower at most. Soon he found himself shivering, water seeping into his coat, boots, every last part of body.

"Shit, Eirik, you're drenched! What happened?"

"Wasn't supposed to rain today," he grumbles as he removes his boots.

Mikkel shakes his head in mock exasperation, lips twitching as he tries not to show how amusing he finds the situation. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, nor will it be the last. They each have their flaws, and one of Eirik's just happens to be forgetting to pack an umbrella whenever rain isn't forecast.

"Honestly! And everyone thinks you're the sensible one," Mikkel teases. "You should probably go have a shower. We don't want you catching a chill, do we?"

Before Eirik can protest Mikkel being considered even slightly more sensible than him - at least Eirik remembers to put some gloves on if he plans to start a snowball fight, unlike a certain _someone_ \- his boyfriend has rushed back down the hallway. He trots back a few minutes later with a cheerful smile on his face. 

"I've left you some fresh things on the shelf in the bathroom. Don't worry about your wet clothes, I'll put a load on before bed. Just leave them in a pile and I'll deal with it."

Eirik can do nothing but nod as Mikkel rattles of a long list of orders, his voice warm and reassuring, just enough to make the Norwegian forget the terrible day he's had. He suddenly wants to kiss him - he doesn't, though, because he must stink of wet dog and even his overly affectionate boyfriend has _some_ standards.

"Thanks." He breathes a sigh of relief. "I'll get dinner going afterwards, if you don't mind eating later than usual?"

But Mikkel waves a hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about that. I've already started to cook. Thought you wouldn't want to do much tonight."

No doubt about it, Mikkel is angel. Whatever would Eirik do without him?

He hurries to take his shower, relaxing as the hot water soothes his tensed muscles, the chill enveloping his body giving way to fatigue. From the bathroom, he can smell the delicious aroma of whatever Mikkel's cooking, hears the faint sizzling of a pan. They usually take turns - the kitchen is too small for two people to cook comfortably together - but Eirik thinks Mikkel's the better chef. Everything he makes contains the flavours of their home countries, brings back fond memories they discuss while they eat.

Eirik cherishes moments like these. When the day comes to a close and the street outside quietens, it's easy to believe only they exist. There are no lessons Eirik can't wrap his head round, no pressure from upcoming exams, no worrying about whether Mikkel's bursary will come before the bills need to be paid. At the dinner table, there's only Mikkel and Eirik, and the endless conversations they partake in. Funny things that have happened in the lecture hall, annoying professors, people on the bus, that new Netflix series Mikkel's enjoying, Eirik's current read... One subject leads to another until their plates are empty and need to be cleared away.

Eirik insists on washing-up, and even then conversation continues to flow between the living space and kitchen. It would flow for hours if Eirik doesn't cut it off with a yawn.

"You look knackered," Mikkel comments, not unkindly.

"I feel it. You coming to bed with me or staying up a bit longer?"

Mikkel opts to stay up for another half hour, and Eirik is half asleep when he slips into bed with him. Arms pull him close, and his breath tickles his ear.

"Sorry you had a shit day. Hope tomorrow will be better."

A surge of love floods Eirik's veins. He replies by tilting his head back and pressing a tender kiss to his boyfriend's lips, the chaste touch conveying all the gratitude words could never hope to express.

No doubt about it, Eirik must be the luckiest man alive.


	2. Vikings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a blast to write, though I'll admit it's not my best work XD

Eirik has never been fond of amusement parks. Between the seemingly endless queues, the masses of people in such close quarters to one another, and that nagging voice at the back of his mind that tells him the ride will burst into flames the second it sets off, he has plenty of reasons he can use to convince Mikkel that an amusement park is not the ideal place for a date.

Apparently this one is different.

"It's more like a Renaissance fair," Mikkel explains, "except there are loads of different time periods. Obviously you have to queue for the shows, but since they all start at specific times, it's not that bad."

Eirik decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. Mikkel knows his tastes well enough by now; he wouldn't suggest they go someplace he'd hate.

However, it seems he's underestimated just how complicated it is to plan their day. Mikkel insisted they print the show schedules the day before and map out their itinerary so they won't be stuck with everyone else when the gates open.

"It's really easy to miss the first show if you decide to plan your day as soon as you get there."

He's currently chewing his pencil, eyebrows furrowed, as he takes note of show times and mentally calculates how long it should take them to get from one performance to the next. Many times he crosses something out, muttering under his breath. It's amusing, to see him so serious about this. Eirik doesn't mind only seeing a few shows, but Mikkel's determined he see every last one of them.

"We'll have to skip the Romans, because there's no way we're missing out on the Vikings," his boyfriend finally says. "We might have to run once or twice, but we should be okay... You're fine with us eating in the queue, right? I want us to have the best seats."

Eirik glances at the planning, and suddenly regrets ever agreeing to this. Ten shows in just under nine hours. Most of them miles apart from one another, according to the map. If nothing else, it will be a good workout.

* * *

Sure enough, by the time they finally wait for the Vikings to start, Eirik's legs are aching. The late afternoon sun isn't as harsh anymore, dappling the sandy path in a mosaic of shadows and light. A tall wooden gate bars entry to the seating area, and people have gathered around it to form a blob rather than a line.

He takes a shaky breath, hating how close everyone is, dreading the eventual bruises he'll uncover this evening from where someone elbows him or crushes his toes beneath a heavy foot. At least this is the only queue he's found unbearable. The others have all been almost organised.

Mikkel squeezes his hand, tugs slightly at it, leads him away from the mass of bodies to a more open area further back in the queue.

"This better?"

"Thanks," Eirik flashes him a small smile between deep breaths.

Now he doesn't fear being crushed, he eyes his surroundings. Or, more precisely, he watches the people around him. People watching is always a fun pastime in situations like this, and he's happy to learn Mikkel enjoys the activity too, though the comments he makes are less cynical than Eirik's.

A few metres away, a group of small children - members of a catechism group or summer camp - play with plastic swords. Four of them, dressed as knights, are defending what appears to be a cool box from three musketeers. Foam swords clash against plastic rapiers, and Eirik can't help but think that the fight isn't exactly fair. Apparently two other children, from a different group entirely, think the same, as suddenly war cries split the air and the two Vikings join the fray, wielding wooden axes.

"Bet you a euro there'll be tears in five minutes," he murmurs to Mikkel.

"Nah, they'll be fine. Looks like their supervisor's going to tell them to stop."

They both chuckle as a tired-looking young woman interrupts their game and distracts them with a snack of bread and chocolate.

"You know," Mikkel comments, "the artisanal shops in this area sell really cool axes."

Eirik knows exactly where this is heading.

"Do they now?" he looks up at the sky.

"Yeah, they're wicked! Can we get one for the flat?"

Eirik shuts his eyes briefly, picturing the second-hand furniture they've somehow managed to match together, the landscape paintings on the walls, and tries to imagine an axe hanging up somewhere. It doesn't fit. He opens his mouth to refuse, but Mikkel is staring at him with _that_ look on his face, and really, what could be the harm in having such an item on display?

"If you think we need an axe in our living room," he shrugs.

Any further discussion is cut off by the gates swinging open. Suddenly Mikkel is dragging Eirik along, through the crowd, not minding whose feet they accidentally trample as they make a path towards the middle row.

The wooden benches are uncomfortable, and Eirik shifts to find a comfier position while Mikkel talks to him as they wait for the show to start. He tells him the history behind the show, how it's one of the oldest, therefore not quite as exciting as some of the stunts pulled earlier on. He gives Eirik hints where to look, even though he'll nudge him in the right direction during the action sequences, from the tower that towers over a canal made to resemble a river, to the quaint village where the actors are gathering.

The narrator's voice booms over the crowd, reminding everyone to remain seated, and the show starts.

True to Mikkel's words, it isn't as impressive as some of the things he's seen today. There are no complicated acrobatics performed on a galloping horse's back, no breathtaking courting ceremony between flamenco dancers and musketeers riding horses of the purest white. No birds' feathers brush against his hair as they soar over his head, no actor emerges from within the audience to hold them hostage. Instead, there are bellowing flames Eirik feels even from the middle row and ships that rise and sink into the depths of the canal. Historical inaccuracies tarnish the clothing the actors wear, even the depiction of Vikings rubs him the wrong way, but he still finds himself clapping alongside the rest of the audience. 

Mikkel spends the last half hour of their time in the park picking out an axe he likes. He settles on a massive thing almost as tall as him that they decide to split the cost for. The Dane carries it with two hands, and Eirik wastes no time forbidding him from ever swinging it, wincing as he avoids whacking the other visitors with great difficulty.

Eirik can barely keep his eyes open now. The second he rests his head against the window, he's fast asleep, lips curling into a smile as he replays the day's events in his mind.

Now that's an amusement park he's happy to visit again.


	3. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for metaphors of drowning, passive suicidal thoughts and panic attacks.   
> Additionally, this is the prompt I'm happiest with, so not sure what to make of that...

Today, he is drowning. The news comes as no surprise. He knew he'd failed his exams. He's known he would fail his year from the moment he received his mock results. Why then, is it difficult to breathe?

"Eirik?"

Mikkel's voice echoes from far away, calling to him from a distant shore beyond Eirik's reach. The waves pull him under, crashing against him with vicious words and bitter regrets. They hold him under until the tingles running up and down his fingers turn them numb. His hands shake, clutching his phone tightly.

"I didn't get through," he rids his voice of all emotion.

How could this have happened? How could Eirik Thomassen, consistently top of his class, have failed his exams? He can already imagine the gossip. Family members looking down at him with disappointment they don't even try to hide. Friends shooting him pitying stares, thinking him to have lazed away all term. How can he even begin to explain to someone who's never gone through the system just how _difficult_ it is to succeed when there's a new thirty page lesson to memorize each day, when the questions on the exam sheet seek to trick you?

An entire year wasted. There will be no second chance, not for him. The current drags him even deeper, to the depths where the terrifying monsters lie dormant. He considers fighting it, kicking his legs and propelling himself to the surface. There are islands nearby. He can try to swim to one of them. But why bother? Surely it's easier to let himself drown?

"Eirik, listen to me."

A hand grasps the collar of his shirt and tugs at it. It pulls and pulls, dragging him out of the depths. He resists it, lashes out with his legs, scratches at it. It retreats for a moment, before grabbing at his arm instead and pulling him again. It drags him towards the surface, fighting against the current with a will so much stronger than Eirik's own.

As his head breaks the surface, he's torn back to reality. He's in Mikkel's arms, he realises with a start. He can hear his boyfriend's heart pounding in his ear. It races. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. His eyes flutter shut and he listens.

Mikkel's words wash over him like the sun's rays. They soothe him, comfort him, chase away the thoughts that reach out to pull him back under the surface. He doesn't understand, he never will, but he understands how Eirik's mind works. He knows what thoughts race through him, what worries poison his determination.

There are other paths, he says. This isn't the end. No one will judge him for changing course. His life isn't set in stone.

"It's okay to fail," he repeats, a mantra Eirik reluctantly accepts as truth.

He doesn't know how long they stay like this, all he knows is that it's helping. Mikkel combs his fingers through Eirik's hair as he talks, while his other hand rubs circles up and down his back. Feeling rushes back to the Norwegian's fingertips, his ragged breathing slowly evens out. The tears he hasn't realised he's shed dry on his cheeks, and exhaustion takes hold of his limbs, causing him to sag against his boyfriend's warm body.

He doesn't want to speak. He doesn't want to move. He just wants to sit here for a little while longer and listen to Mikkel talk, bask in the comfort his gentle touch brings, and relish in the tranquillity, forget for just a little while that he's failed, that he now has to decide what to do with his life, that his decisions will also have an impact on Mikkel, whether he can continue to live with the man he loves.

For now, though, he's content to doze off to the lullaby of his partner's steady heartbeat. Nothing else matters.


	4. Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% happy with how this turned out, but it's better than my original draft, at least ^^'

If there's one thing Mikkel trusts his boyfriend's judgement on, it's book recommendations. Eirik knows his tastes inside out, and looks at a series objectively rather than basing his recommendations solely off his own tastes. So when Mikkel decides to give fantasy books a try, he goes straight to Eirik for advice.

The Norwegian is going through his revision sheets, lips moving silently as he tries to remember complicated words that all sound the same. He's seated himself down on the sofa, however, a signal that he doesn't mind taking a break if Mikkel wants to chat. He glances up once he hears his partner's footsteps, a soft smile serving as a greeting. 

"D'you have any fantasy books I can read?" Mikkel asks.

Surprise flickers across Eirik's face, soon replaced by an expression of pure joy. He nods, rising gracefully to his feet and walking over to the bookcase. Most of the books lining its shelves are Eirik's, a variety of different genres tidied away so he can find them again without difficulty. Mikkel's books, on the other hand, are put haphazardly wherever there's space, with recipe books nestled between psychology manuals and theatre scripts.

Pale fingers brush against various spines as Eirik mutters to himself. Regularly, he pulls a heavy volume off the shelf, flips through its pages, before shaking his head and sliding it back into the gap reserved for it. Mikkel catches snippets of the reasons he lists to himself: too many complicated names to remember, not enough action, an unlikeable protagonist...

He eventually decides on five different books. Most are part of a series, one or two can be read as standalones. They vary in length, some character-driven, others plot-driven. Eirik presents them to Mikkel one by one, giving him a brief summary without spoiling the plot, weighing the pros and cons, tells him why he thinks the Dane will enjoy each one.

He pauses once he's finished, hesitates as Mikkel chooses which one to start with.

"I can read a chapter to you, if you'd like me to."

Mikkel whips his head up to stare at Eirik, a rush of excitement coursing through his veins. Having Eirik read to him? Fuck yes! He can barely keep the anticipation out of his voice as he agrees, handing him the novel he's chosen.

Eirik settles back down on the sofa, pats the cushion next to him. Careful not to latch on to his boyfriend, Mikkel snuggles close, resting his head just below his partner's bony shoulder.

Eirik takes a deep breath and begins to read.

He's quite the storyteller. Words blend together seamlessly to form a sentence, never tripped on, never mispronounced. He pauses at all the right moments, heightening the suspense when required, speeding the pace ever so slightly when it comes to fight scenes. His voice doesn't adopt various accents, but his tone when each character speaks conveys their personality perfectly.

One chapter. Two chapters. Three chapters. Four chapters in, Eirik suggests they continue another day, his voice having grown hoarse. Mikkel wants to protest, engrossed in the epic tale and its multitude of interesting characters. He wants to learn more about this fleshed out world his imagination brings to life, a world of breathtakingly beautiful cities, terrifying monsters and heroic protagonists. He wants to lose himself in this fantasy world so different to the one he lives in. No wonder Eirik loves these kinds of books. Escapism at its finest, he can't help but think.

Eirik takes a sip of his water before gesturing the next book on the pile.

"You can probably read that one by yourself without mixing things up."

So Mikkel does, and while his boyfriend returns to his studying, he promptly loses himself in a tale of fire-breathing dragons and incompetent policemen that leaves him in hysterics all the way through.


	5. Fairytale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what to say about this one... One of my favourites to write, definitely!

It's one of those days. One of those terrifying days when the light vanishes from Mikkel's eyes, to be replaced by a dull melancholy. He sits on the floor, watching the rain splatter against the rectangular glass of the balcony door. He doesn't greet Eirik as he puts his bag down, doesn't even seem to notice his presence.

"Want to talk about it?" Eirik asks, joining him on the floor.

He has a sneaking suspicion what might be the matter. They argued the other day. A proper argument, fueled by angry shouting that made the walls tremble and harsh words determined to wound. An argument that resulted in Mikkel storming out and spending the night at Jan's.

They've since made up, taking the time to analyse just why the fight took place, what they need to change to prevent another from breaking out in the future. Still, the event must weigh heavily on his mind, especially considering how laid-back he usually is, knowing how much he hates hurting those he holds dear.

"It's stupid," Mikkel shrugs.

Eirik tilts his head, a sign he is willing to listen no matter how silly these worries may be. Mikkel could be worrying about his favourite sweet brand being discontinued, still Eirik would listen and advise him on the best ways to deal with it.

"So, I was chatting with Gil and Al at lunchtime. And hearing them talk about Erzsébet and Kiku made me realise what a shitty couple we are. Like, they never argue, they're always gushing about how perfect their partner is, they go on dates every other week. They just seem so perfect, like they're living in a fairytale." He laughs bitterly. "And then there's you and me, who go on proper dates maybe once every few months, argue over the smallest of things, and take each other for granted. I love you, Eirik, and I'd spend my whole life with you if I could, but I sometimes feel like we just... don't work."

Eirik lets the offense and hurt that prickle his skin at Mikkel's harsh words pass over his head. He understands what Mikkel is trying to say, though the words he's chosen have come out wrong. He thinks about Gilbert and Erzsébet, who don't live together. He thinks about Alfred and Kiku, who have been dating since the end of secondary school.

"You can't compare us with them. We're all at different stages of our relationships. Gilbert and Erzsébet aren't ready to move in together, even though they've been going out a year longer than we have. Alfred and Kiku have had nearly four years to work things out. Besides, Gilbert and Alfred aren't exactly the types to admit when something's wrong with their love life, are they?"

"I told you it was stupid."

Mikkel peers down at the people running to avoid getting caught up in the shower. Eirik frowns, wondering how best to ease his boyfriend's concerns. He isn't good at comforting people, but that doesn't matter. Mikkel shouldn't be left to feel this way. Eirik won't accept that line of thought.

"You know," he begins, carefully choosing his words, "I think it's healthy to argue every once in a while. Instead of keeping our thoughts in our heads, to fester and sour our opinion of each other, we let them out. And maybe that means we argue, because we disagree, but we're good at communicating. We always find a healthy compromise. Besides, you talk as though we argue every day. We bicker a lot, perhaps, but there's no malice behind it. We're fundamentally different people."

"But what happened the other day, you can't consider that healthy, can you?"

Eirik shrugs.

"Arguments like those ones are like thunderstorms. Sometimes you can see the signs, sometimes they startle you, they're unpleasant to listen to, but then they go away, you make up, and go over if there's anything you could have done to be better prepared for the next one."

He must have said something right, because Mikkel finally meets his gaze and offers him a tentative grin.

"We'd make a pretty weird fairytale, wouldn't we?"

"I don't know..." Eirik pretends to consider it. "You do have an axe... It's not a sword, but it's close enough. And I'm sure I could pull off a dress, if push comes to shove."

Mikkel laughs. Straight from his belly, it rings throughout the room, loud, mesmerising. Eirik lets it cover his body in a blanket of joy.

"What do you think about this? Prince Eirik has locked himself into a tallest tower of the kingdom. Why has he done such a thing? Because people are annoying. So Sir Mikkel rises to the challenge of 'rescuing' him. With nothing but the coolest axe in the world to accompany him, he sets off on his quest, overcoming any obstacle in his path until he finally reaches the tower. But it isn't locked. And there's no dragon to guard it. Confused, he makes his way up the stairs, knocks on Prince Eirik's door and enters. And is promptly told to fuck off."

"But Sir Mikkel is persistent," Eirik continues, "and somehow manages to befriend the cold-hearted prince. Day after day, they spend more and more time together. They get to know each other, share similar hobbies and interests. They fall in love without realising it."

"And have loads of children and live happily ever after," Mikkel finishes with a dramatic flick of his wrist.

A fit of the giggles rushes through them, as they take a moment to reflect just how ridiculous it all is. Because it is ridiculous. They've only just become adults, only just started living together, only just had their first major argument. They aren't a fairytale; they never will be. But whatever their story could be classified as, it's perfect to them.

Mikkel's eyes have regained their sparkle. He beams over at Eirik, the radiant knight who's saved him so many times, and covers his hand with his own.

"Thanks, Eirik."

Eirik squeezes his hand in response. The rain continues to pour, gaining in intensity until people are either running to escape it or huddling under restaurant awnings. It taps at their door, an unwelcome intruder demanding entry into the warm sanctuary the two men have built.

"Mikkel?"

"Yeah?"

"Think Feliks would make me a dress if I asked him nicely?"


	6. Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this fluffy? I somehow think I've made it more angst than fluff. 
> 
> Quick note: Louis Pasteur is meant to be a prépa, which is a 2-3 year course that prepares you for certain difficult entrance exams (ex: grandes écoles, language pathology, etc.)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! And thank you to those who left kudos! I really enjoyed writing these, although I'm a tad disappointed I couldn't make the chapters any longer.

Saturday nights are their nights. On Saturday nights, they stay in, watch a film, play video games, read each other stories, make love... Saturday nights are private, intimate, secret. The perfect time to discuss their deepest fears, to share grievances that eat away at their patience.

It's been three weeks since they last spent one together.

For the past three weeks, Eirik has locked himself away in the spare room, emerging only to grab what could barely be considered a bite to eat. He tells Mikkel he needs to be alone, that there's nothing for him to worry about. He's fine, he insists, pretending that failing his exams hasn't shattered his confidence, that his self-esteem isn't the lowest it's ever been. 

"Gaming night tonight?"

He's disheveled. His hair sticks out at odd angles, matted clumps knotted together to form a pale fuzz. Shadows that circle his eyes and hang under cheekbones turn him into a ghost. He hasn't changed his clothes for days, from the smell of him. He looks a mess, yet he seems alive once more.

Holding back tears that have suddenly sprung at the corners of his eyes, Mikkel forces himself to stay still, not to pull his boyfriend into a crushing hug.

"That works with me," he grins.

The game they pick is one of Vasilica's recommendations, one they've already made progress in. A fun game, one that requires concentration, yet a lack of cutscenes enables them to chat over it to their heart's content. While Eirik took to the game straight away, falling in love with the level design and hidden lore, Mikkel finds himself enjoying it a little more each time they play.

The rules they impose on themselves could be considered unnecessarily strict. With every death, someone else is handed the remote. Before taking the remote, any sticky or greasy fingers must be washed with warm water and soap. If the game gets on their nerves, they can stop, take a short break, play something else, do something else, anything but let their irritation boil over. There are more rules, of course, more ways to ensure the evening goes smoothly. Both Eirik and Mikkel know them all by heart.

Eirik insists on cooking. When he next emerges from the spare room, he walks with a newfound spring in his step. His hair glows under artificial lights, furious brushing having turned it fluffy. He's dressed up for the occasion, a clean shirt, smart pants, even a tie. And when Mikkel fetches some nibbles to place on the coffee table, he catches a whiff of cologne.

They sit close to one another, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth the other radiates. Eirik draws his knees up to his chest as he watches Mikkel play, the latter's legs outstretched underneath the coffee table. A comfortable silence has fallen between them, their attention focused on the monstrous entity on the screen that darts from one side of the arena to the next. It's taking all Mikkel's concentration not to lose track of the boss, and he hisses in frustration as poison causes their character to let out a scream as she succumbs to it.

"Fuck this boss," he snarls, passing the remote over to Eirik.

His boyfriend, however, appears to be deep in thought. He urges their character into a run as she makes her way to the boss room, slaying the enemies in their way without stopping to consider the best way to deal with them.

"I'm staying here."

Mikkel turns to look at him with surprise, a puzzled frown on his face. Before he can ask Eirik what he means, the man is talking again.

"I've been accepted at Louis Pasteur."

"That's awesome!"

He wants to hug Eirik, but they've reached the abandoned church where the boss fight takes place, so he settles on putting as much enthusiasm into his voice as humanly possible.

"Yes, well, wasn't sure about it at first. Considered studying biology, but..." He shrugs. "Probably not the best idea right now."

He bites his lip as their character narrowly avoids getting caught in a combo of attacks. She gets two swings in before she's poisoned again, and she darts back, trying to gain some distance so Eirik can heal the status effect.

"I'm happy you're staying here."

"Where else would I go? I enjoy your company," Eirik's eyes remain fixed on the TV screen, but a smile tugs at his lips.

When the boss finally vanishes in a cloud of white, they cheer so loudly Mikkel half-expects one of their neighbours to come knocking at their door. For the first time in three weeks, Eirik lets Mikkel wrap his arms around him and pull him tightly. They sit in that position until the early hours of the morning, making slower progress than they probably should, distracting each other every now and then with jokes and trivia. Laughter fills the air at first, gradually devolving into silence as the night goes on. With fatigue settling over them, they're content to simply lean back and watch the other play, lost in their own thoughts, taking comfort in each other's presence.

In the early hours of the morning, when fatigue severs their conversation and muddles their speech, they turn the television off, wash up, call it a night. For the first time in three weeks, Eirik slips into bed with Mikkel and curls into the warmth he radiates. Tender whispers fill their ears until they drift off, two young lovers who couldn't be more comfortable with one another.


End file.
